


A Friendly Suggestion

by seamscribe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I think you really need to get laid, Jo.'</p><p>Fluff and sex. Lots of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

  
  
  
A Friendly Suggestion   
  


 

 

 

    “I think you really need to get laid, Jo.”

   

     A friendly suggestion. An innocent piece of advice. He would fucking pay.

 

    “What the _fuck_ are you trying to say, Hawthorne?” Johanna says, narrowing her eyes.

 

    “I’m _saying_ you need to get laid.” And he’s not fucking with her. She has learned to tell when he’s fucking with her and when he’s being serious.

 

    “Fuck you. Why? No, fuck you. Okay, why?”

 

    “You’re so tense,” he shrugs.

 

    “I’m _tense_?”

 

    “What I mean when I say ‘tense’ is that you’re being a total bitch.”

 

    “Well, I’m tense all the fucking time then.”

 

    “Tenser than usual,” he says, somewhat carefully. “You almost made that waiter cry.”

 

    “That waiter was weak!” she declares, pounding a fist on the table. “Weak, I tell ya! And who the fuck is  dumb enough to ask _me_ for a _fucking_ autograph?”

 

    “He’s an idiot,” Gale agrees. “But you need to blow off some steam or something. Running’s not cutting it.”   

 

    “So I’ll run more. Or I’ll get a punching bag.” She brightens. “Or I’ll just punch you.”

 

    “You wish.”

 

    “What?!”

 

    “I kicked your ass not even two hours ago! I’m not surprised you wanna forget, it was pretty sad. I mean, when you’re too tense to _fight,_ that’s just pointless.”

 

    “I didn’t say fight you. I said punch you. Don’t you know what a sucker punch is? Anyway,” she says, taking a gulp of her Bloody Mary. “Who the hell am I supposed to do it with?”

 

    “I’m sure it wouldn’t be _that_ hard to find someone, Jo.”

 

    “Really?” she snorts. “Do you _know_ how long it’s been since I showered?”

 

    “You showered yesterday,” he says, matter-of-factly.

 

    “How the fuck do you know that?” Johanna says suspiciously.

 

    “Because you smelled like that weird fruit. Mangoes?”

 

    “How the fuck do you know _that_?”

 

    “Because we were wrestling and I was huffing against the back of your neck?”

 

    “Is that you do when you pin me, you weirdo? _Smell_ me?”

 

    He blushes slightly and says, with great dignity, “Hey, you were right in front my nose, a man’s gotta breathe.”

 

    “Gotta breathe in the intoxicating scent of mangoes?” Gale balls up his napkin and throws it at her. “So violent. You’re _tense_ , Hawthorne, maybe you need to blow off some steam,” Johanna sneers. She finishes the last sip of her Bloody Mary and fishes the fire-roasted tomatoes out of the bottom of the glass. “Mind your own business.”

 

    “I’m just saying. It’s been a long time.”

 

    Johanna glares at him. _But_ she doesn’t deny it. In fact, it’s been something like two years, just a few nights before the launch of the Quarter Quell. She can barely even remember the guy--she had been high as a kite anyway, determined to go out with a bang since she was pretty much done for. She planned on taking as many assholes down as she could in the process, obviously, but she had never been one for false hopes. It wasn’t until the next day that Finnick had finally told her the very huge secret he had been hiding from her. Needless to say, her game plan really changed after that.

 

    Since then, her body has essentially become one thing to her: something that survives. Games, starving, torture, too many drugs, not enough sleep. It’s something that’s hardy that does what she wants it to when she needs it to ( _most_ of the time) and gets strong when she pushes it. But one thing it is not is a source of pleasure. Well, the pleasure of bacon and whiskey, maybe.

 

    Even before her _second_ fucking Reaping, sex had been sort of a touchy subject. It was a physical imperitive or a way to get something or occasionally just a way to pass the time, which was _endless_ . But it wasn’t something she remembered an hour later most of the time. And sometimes it was something she didn’t _want_ to remember. Capitolites--or, the erstwhile Capitolites--were fucking _freaks_.

 

    And then there was the handful of _clients_ she had managed to grit her teeth through. And lastly, her best friend Bette’s hot older brother, right before she left on her Victory Tour. She wanted to get it out of the way before she went on her _fabulous_ and _amazing_ trip to the Capitol. She had assumed she’d be meeting a lot of boys. Ha. God, life was fucked.

 

      Even then, Johanna had a suspicion that they were watching her, so she chose him mostly because she could pretend to be visiting Bette and slip into her brother’s room. He died a few months later--tragically hit by a car on the side of the road--and Bette became too scared to talk to her.

 

     She has never had sex as a free woman. The irritation that has been building up suddenly evaporates and leaves her with a familiar empty feeling. She stares blankly into the red mush at the bottom of her drink for a few moments before she feels a kick against her foot. She looks up at Gale, who is frowning. “Sorry. I was just kidding.”

 

    “No, you weren’t,” she replies. “I can tell when you’re being serious, dumbass. But that’s easier said than done, Hawthorne. Only a crazy person would wanna sleep with me. I don’t even know how to be _sexy_ anymore or whatever.”

 

    “Hey, you’re still sexy. Your tits even came back.” And _there_ is the giveaway that he’s fucking with her--the big, dumb grin on his face. She can feel her face getting warm and her hands go to her chest by instinct.

 

    “Thanks,” she says sourly, pulling her shirt away from her chest.

 

    “Sorry,” he snickers. “I just love watching you blush. It’s like seeing a comet or something.” She glares at him. “Okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. If nothing else…”

 

    “...Yes?”

 

    “...I mean...”

 

    “For fuck’s sake, Hawthorne, I’m gonna need another drink if you’re gonna start trying to be subtle. It’s hard to watch.”

 

    “I’m your friend,” he says, looking into his glass. “I wanna help you--unwind.”

 

    She blinks at him. He has surprised her again. “What?”

 

    “Don’t worry,” he says, looking up with a grin. “I’m really good.”

 

    “And _so_ fucking modest,” she says, her mouth twisting into a smile.

 

    “I _am_ serious, though.”

 

   “...”

 

   “Are you speechless?”   

 

    “Like I even believe you,” she scoffs.

 

    “Do I say things I don’t mean?”

 

    “Not typically,” she grumbles after a moment.

 

   “Besides, you can tell when I'm fucking with you, remember?” he smirks.

 

   “Whatever. You're crazy,” she declares, waving for the check.

 

   He leans in and says, “You _did_ say only a crazy person would wanna sleep with you.”

 

   She groans. “Wow, I really walked into that.”  

 

   They pay and go out the side gate of the restaurant patio, as there is sure to be a group of photographers lurking outside the front door. Maybe it was filling the hole left behind by their old Star-Crossed Lovers, but the media was convinced that they were secretly dating—maybe even secretly already married, maybe even with secret children.

 

    So photographers would pop up and follow them around and yell inane questions at them. Some things never changed, apparently. Johanna, however, was much more willing to flip them off than Katniss ever had been. Although, every now and then, she lets them have at it--it’s pathetically comforting to know that people believe that _someone_ out there wants her.

 

    But they had somehow not figured out the side gate trick. Suckers.

 

    Gale doesn't bring up his dumb idea again when he drops her off. But he smirks. He _smirks_.

 

    She turns her nose up and tugs at the hem of her t-shirt. “Asshole.”

 

    “Stress is bad for you!” he calls out. He laughs when she flips him off.

 

    They had gone to lunch straight from the gym, where she had, in fact, gotten her ass kicked. Gale was right. She can't focus. She gets angry and careless or she freezes and panics. She forgets who she's fighting and why and can only focus on getting away. She bit him, once. And he had still pinned her. If anyone actually tried to kill her, they might not have such a hard time.

 

    Wait, what? Fucking Hawthorne is a life or death prospect now? Fucking Gale and his goddamn suggestions.

 

    She goes into the bathroom to clean up and she can't help stopping in front of the mirror once she's undressed. She has the same petite body, with long legs and killer abs,  and, as Gale had so kindly pointed out, healthy breasts. Her nipples are a sweet, peachy pink and her hips have actually started to curve again. Soft curls between strong thighs. All familiar.

 

    However, now she also has a dozen tiny scars at the back of her neck from having her head carelessly shaved with a very sharp razor, and she can still remember the deep, red rings around her wrists and ankles, the scrapes and bruises that seemed to go on forever, the sight of her ribs heaving under her ashen skin and _wow_ , this is why she doesn't think about this. She dunks a cloth in the hot water and scrubs until she starts to turn red.

 

    Gale's body, on the other hand...

 

    So, yes, she has imagined his hands on her, because she’s crazy, not _blind,_ and they spend all their time together, and _wrestle_ , so what can she do? She sees him with his shirt off all the time. And has he been smelling her all along? Her hair always stands on end when she feels his breath at the back of her neck...and that's probably going to get worse.

 

    She's still thinking about it when he shows up later, even after another goddamn run.

 

     “Damn you, Hawthorne!” she curses as she opens the front door.

 

     “What, already?” He closes the door and follows her into the living room. “What’d I do now?”

 

    “You’re stupid ‘get laid’ garbage!” she yells, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

 

    “Oh,” he says, having the fucking decency to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he shrugs. “It was just an idea.”

 

    “Well, keep your dumb fucking ideas to yourself, okay?”

 

    “Will do.” He frowns. “Just trying to help.”

 

    “I know.” She throws her hands up. “Just forget it.”

 

    He shrugs and says, “Are you ready to go? We’re gonna be late for the eight o clock.”

 

    “What are we seeing?”

 

    “We agreed that I don’t have to tell you that.”

 

    “So it’s something I’ll hate,” she sighs in resignation. “Buy me popcorn, at least.”

 

***

 

    The movie is weird and slow-paced and has a sex scene so graphic that her face and other areas are burning by the climax (so to speak). “That was shit,” she declares outside the theater. She takes a deep breath of what has turned into cool air while they were inside. She starts down the street and away from the marquee lights, where everyone can see the blush that feels like it’s been burning on her face all day.

 

    “That sex scene seemed so long. It's gonna give women too many expectations.”

 

    Johanna laughs and says, “Hawthorne, if you think four minutes is a high expectation, I can guarantee you're not the lover you think you are.”   

 

    “There was a time lapse!”

 

    She rolls her eyes with a smile and that's when a light flashes in front of her and a shockingly stealthy photographer darts in front of them.

 

    With a burst of speed, she catches him a few yards away and nearly tackles him to the ground before she finds herself scooped up by Gale, who firmly reminds her that she doesn't want 'Johanna's Bloody Brawl' on the front page of the paper tomorrow. He quietly and efficiently threatens the little man—stupid orange skin, probably from One—and ushers him away with a dark look.

 

    He catches up to her and puts a hand on her shoulder that she roughly shakes off. They thankfully get back to her apartment without any more fun surprises. She punches the wall next to the front door. Gale snorts and watches her hop around, shaking her hand out and hissing in pain. He gives her room to pace around the living room, watching with a quiet calm. He always seems to know when she needs that.

 

    Finally, she stops and says, “Maybe you were right. With that idea of yours.”

 

    He nods patiently. “I'm smarter than I look.”

 

    “Don't make me laugh,” Johanna says with a snort. She bites her lip and hurriedly sits next to him on the couch. She grips his arm, which she knows is warm and strong because she's felt it wrapped around her while he was apparently sniffing her. The back of her neck tingles and warms. “Let's do it,” she blurts out. She closes her eyes without waiting for a response, screwing her face up and waiting for a kiss.

 

    Instead, she feels his hands cupping her face and finds him watching her intently when she opens her eyes. “You look like you're about to get a shot,” he says. His fingers trace over her cheek and back into her thick, brown hair, still short and choppy. “What is it?” Johanna sighs and tilts her head back in defeat. Gale never gives up once he thinks he knows something.

 

    “It's _weird_ ,” she huffs. “It's been since...before everything changed. It's almost like...”

 

    “Your first time?” She nods. “Well, if that’s that case,” he murmurs, tracing along her arms. “I’ll just have to make sweet, tender, first-time love to you.” He captures her hands and pulls her closer. “Okay?”

 

    “Didn't you all have sex at a trash heap?”

 

    “It was called the _slag_ heap,” he says, with some kind of absurd wounded dignity.

 

    “Did some poor girl really let you deflower her next to a pile of garbage?”

 

    “You're in good hands,” is his reply.

 

     Johanna narrows her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not fucking with me?”

 

       “I can’t act this well,” he says, and kisses her.

 

       It has been such an incredibly long time since she’s been kissed, but she’s pretty sure he’s good. Maybe more like amazing, and when she opens her mouth to tell him so, he deepens the kiss and presses closer until she can feel the hard lines of his body against hers. He runs one hand up to her shoulder while the other carefully tugs down the neck of her shirt, baring her collarbone.

 

       Tracing his fingers over the pale skin there, he whispers, “How’s that?” against her lips. She hums and nods. She doesn't have a lot of extra breath to spare for noises. “Now,” he says, reaching up and toys with the tab of her zipper for a moment before he starts to slowly pull it down her chest. “If you were my beautiful virgin girlfriend…” He pushes the sides of the jacket aside. One hand slips inside and settles on her side while the other touches her hip. “I would…” He leans in and kisses a spot behind her ear that makes her jump. “Slowly undress you…”

 

If he just moves his hands a little lower, they’d touch--

 

        “Ah!” She’s caught between pulling away and pushing forward when his fingers find her nipples. He growls against her mouth, which causes it’s own unexpected rush of heat.

 

    “I’d do this…” He leans down to kiss her neck again while he plays with them until they’re tingling as much as the rest of her. It feels amazing when his hands cover her breasts and squeeze, the rough warmth of his palms. “And this…” He slides a leg between hers and presses against her until she lets out a low moan. They’ve ended up horizontal somehow.

 

     His hands clench at her hips and he suddenly pulls away, licking his lips. He draws in a deep but shaky breath. “We should stop.”

 

    “What the fuck are you talking about?” Johanna whispers, not opening her eyes. He leans back, his hands moving from her hips to her hands. “No, really, what the _fuck_ \--” She  punches his shoulder. “Are you talking about?”

 

    “I don’t think you’re ready,” he says, wisely leaning out of punching distance. “That hurt,” he adds.

 

    “Duh!” He catches her arm this time mid-swing. He pulls her back against his him. He takes her hand and drags it down between her legs, his fingers fitting over hers and leading her in circles.

 

    “ _You_ should do it,” he says against her ear.

 

    “You offered!”

 

    “I’m serious,” he says, pulling away. She turns around and he looks so, so earnest when he says, “This is about you, Johanna. It’s _your_ body.”

 

    “Uggghhh, you’re _such_ a _good_ guy!”

 

    Gale rolls his eyes. “Please forgive me.” He kisses her again, so briefly that it’s practically an insult after the last one. He comes back at her noise of protest. He kisses her a second time, holding her close in his arms, the warmth of his chest that radiates through her even through two stupid layers of clothing. He drops his mouth to her neck with a groan. “Too bad you didn’t wear a skirt today,” he sighs, reaching down and squeezing her thigh.

 

“I think you’re teasing me on purpose,” she accuses breathlessly.

 

“Like I said, I love watching you blush.”

 

“I’m not _embarrassed_ ,” she snaps. “I’m _horny_.”

 

He pulls away with a laugh. “Well, try to make it to the bed, at least.” He gets up and starts in the direction of the door.

 

“You don’t have to _leave_ ,” she complains. “Just because you wanna stop.”

 

He gives her a heated look and says, “We won’t stop if I stay.” She presses her lips together. “And maybe you should think about things.”

 

“I don’t relax when I think about things,” she grumbles, following him to the door. He opens it and turns to her with a serious look. “Johanna, it’s hard for me too.” Then he starts to snicker.

 

She rolls her eyes. “I’m embarrassed to know you.”

 

“Let me know how it goes,” he says, stepping into the hall. He smirks. “Detail. Lots of detail.”

 

***

 

    She does _not_ make it to the bed.

 

    But, as no luck would have it, she doesn’t get anywhere at all. She unbuttons her pants with one hand still on the knob and immediately realizes that two years of celibacy really _has_ changed something. The sudden touch is somehow both boring and overwhelming. She does know how her own body _works_ \--she’s not some kind of crazy person who has never jerked it--or rubbed it, in her case.

 

    But the long-ingrained patterns don’t push her high enough to get past the sudden cold feeling that settles over her and leaves her sighing in defeat and sliding to the floor. She thinks about calling Gale because he probably isn’t even home yet and he would probably turn around for her, even if it was just to sit on the couch and watch her stare into space and possibly rock back and forth.

 

    That’s really why she would ask him to come back. Not because he was definitely _getting_ her somewhere. But because she realizes then that he was right—maybe she's not ready to go there.

 

    Not alone, anyway.

 

    And when had fucking _Gale Hawthorne_ become the person who understood her?

 

    She picks up the phone, dials, and waits. When Peeta answers, she immediately barks, “Do I need to get laid?”

 

    Peeta doesn’t bother to ask who it is.

 

    “Probably,” he replies. “Worked wonders for me.”

 

    Johanna hangs up. Fucking everybody is fucking.

 

    She sits on the floor in indecision for a few minutes before she decides she's fine. She can definitely get through this. What’s one more night staring at the ceiling? At least she knows her body can feel good again.

 

    She sighs and goes into the bathroom and quickly runs a washcloth under the faucet in the sink. She cleans up in the bedroom and gets into bed with a determination to sleep, even though her mind is racing and her body seems to be thrumming with a quiet sensation that makes her toss and turn after just a few minutes. She finally drifts off, thankfully before the sun comes up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But I simply cannot do it alone.

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

  
     Johanna wakes up with a start when she hears the grind of a key in the front door. Her first instinct is to leap out of bed and grab the axe under the nightstand, which is small but light and flies straight. Habits die hard.

 

But she decides that it's just Gale because no one else has a key. He calls out, “Hey, it's me!” from the front door. He appears in the bedroom doorway with a bag that smells like heaven. “I could have been trying to kill you, you know.”

 

“You have a key.”

 

“Anyone can make a copy of a key!”

 

“Can you spare me the fucking lecture? I woke up thirty seconds ago.”

 

“Yeah, and you should roll on over to the other side,” he says, poking her leg until she moves over with a huff. “Sleep well?” She glares. “Didn't you take my advice?” he asks, handing her a take-out container that will probably contain everything she didn't know she wanted for breakfast. Fucking Gale.

 

“I did. Didn't happen.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“What were you--”

 

“I really don't wanna talk about it,” she snaps, flipping open the lid on the take-out. Bacon, flapjacks, and hashbrowns. Her stomach predictably growls. “Thanks for breakfast,” she adds sullenly.

 

He rolls his eyes and grumbles a 'whatever' under his breath. 

 

“I'm just frustrated,  _ okay _ ?” she bites out.

 

“Yeah, I can tell.” He picks up a piece of bacon from his own tray and looks at it more sadly than anyone should ever look at bacon. “I guess I'm sorry I brought it up.”

 

“No, you were right,” Johanna sighs, tearing a flapjack apart with her fork. “This is something I need to do. But...”   


 

“But what?”

 

She looks up at him and finds him watching her closely. “Nothing. Never mind.” 

 

“Tell me.” The tension of the moment is thankfully broken when he shoves a huge bite of eggs into his mouth.

 

Johanna glances at him for a moment before she sets her plate aside and gathers her breath. She scoots closer, slow and stiff. “This  _ is _ something I need to do,” she says again. “But you were wrong,” she continues. “ _ You _ should do it.” And then she throws herself on the bed and looks up at the ceiling so she doesn't have to see his reaction. God, when did she become such a coward? She’s acting as brainless as--well, Brainless.

 

Gale simply sets his food aside and says, “I can help.” He leans down and gives her a slow and thorough kiss that makes her glad she’s already laying down. He sets a hand on her knee and pauses for a second before running it up her thigh, almost to the top of her rather short shorts. “Are you sure?”

 

He waits until she looks down to meet his eyes. “I'm sure,” she huffs. “So hurry  _ up _ .”

 

He chuckles and inches his fingers under the hem of her shorts, moving farther between her legs. She suddenly feels his other hand behind the other knee, squeezing the back of her thigh and urging her legs apart. He slides his fingers under the shorts and rubs against the thin fabric of her underwear, up and down until her reaches the growing wet spot. “Fuck,” he groans, turning his head against her chest. He stops to breathe in before he leans over and closes his mouth over her nipple. Even through her t-shirt, the feeling makes her gasp. 

 

He holds her captive between the two sensations for a few long minutes, until she's panting and arching against him. Then he suddenly moves his hand under the waist of her shorts and underwear and the rough heat of his fingers finally slide against her bare skin and into the wetness there. 

 

“Fuck!” She means for it to be a growl, but it definitely comes out as a whimper.

 

“I told you I was really good,” he mumbles around her nipple. He leans up and kisses her at the same moment that one finger dips in and slowly starts to slip inside her. She appreciates the kiss but it can't distract from the burning that starts to grow when he starts working it in. He presses his mouth against the spot below her ear that makes her shudder. “Is this okay? You're so tight.”

 

“Yeah, it's okay,” she breathes.

 

He starts to tug the shorts down her thighs with one hand. “Do you want me to use  my mouth?”

 

“ _ Fuck _ yes.”

 

He snickers, moving down her body. “Just don't pull my hair out.”

 

“No promises at  _ all _ ,” she moans.

 

He throws the shorts on the floor somewhere and pushes her thighs apart. He doesn't tease at all before he leans in and roughly runs his tongue over her, from the messy place where his finger is still pressed inside her, up to her clit. She  _ screams _ . He makes a pleased noise against her that rumbles through her and draws a squeaky noise out of her.  He works another finger in and she's so wet that this one barely feels like a stretch. Then he  _ curls _ them and she has to smack a hand over her mouth to stop another scream.

 

He leans back, looking far too pleased with himself. He licks his lips and says, “Are you ready?”

 

“I don't know,” she gasps, although she knows her body isn't going to wait for her mind to catch up.

 

He places a soft and lingering kiss on her thigh. “Just try to relax,” he murmurs. 

 

And then he's like a man on a mission, grinding his fingers against her and curving them until he finds a spot that makes her think she's going to scream again. He drives her higher and higher until she's trembling against his mouth. 

 

He pulls back, his eyes raking over her body until they meet hers. His voice is low and rough when he says, “I can't wait to watch you come.”

 

And his thumb rubs hard against her, once, twice—and that's all it takes. He keeps going while she comes, easily holding her in place with one hand over her hip. His fingers feel big and rough inside her when she starts to squeeze and shake around them but it all  blends together into a blinding storm of sensation. When she's done, he ducks down and uses his mouth to coax her into coming again. She has to kick him away when it becomes clear that he's willing to try for a third time.

 

“Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ,” she breathes, her heart still racing.

 

He wipes his hand on the sheet with a rueful shrug and stretches out next to her. He touches her cheek (with his clean hand, thankfully) and says, “Beautiful, just like I expected.” Then he smirks and says, “You're blushing a lot more than I thought you would, though.” And she can feel her face warming, tingling wherever he touches.

 

She ducks away and hides her face against his chest. “Guess your shameless flattery is working,” she mutters. He closes his arms around her and man, that feels nice. She usually only experiences this when she's crying hysterically. But when that happens, he's definitely not sliding his hands up and down her back like that, or grabbing her ass, or grinding his hard cock against her.

 

Johanna shivers and presses her hips forward against his, slipping her arms around his waist. “Are you?...”

 

    “Don't worry about me. Maybe I’ll jerk off in your shower. Someone’s got to, right? And you should try to get some sleep.” He brings a hand up to card through her hair. “How do you feel?”

 

“Good,” she says honestly. She laughs. “Really fucking good.” In fact, she’s positive she’s never felt this good after sex. And they didn’t even have sex.

 

“Knew I was right.” He starts to move away, but she stops him, grabbing a handful of his shirt. She only notices just then that he's still fully dressed. She puts a finger on the button of his jeans and murmurs, “You don't have to go in the bathroom.” He raises an eyebrow. She reaches further down and fits her hand over him. God help her, her hand isn’t big enough. “You said you wanted to watch me,” she adds with a squeeze. “Fair's fair, Gale,” she pouts. Apparently, she  _ does _ remember how to be sexy. 

 

    He drops his mouth to her collarbone with a rough moan. “Besides,” she says brightly, laying back on the pillows. “I'm happy to just lay here and contribute nothing.”

 

He pulls back and stops for a moment, pressing his lips together. “Okay,” he says, taking his shirt off and pushing his jeans down over his hips. “But you're not allowed to fall asleep until afterwards.” He slides his not-tight-enough underwear down.

 

She looks him up and down slowly and replies faintly, “Trust me, I won't be falling  asleep.” Not between those thighs and his cock, which is hard and twitching and leaving a wet streak across the bottom of his amazing abs and man, that's fucking hot. 

 

But not as hot as when he gathers the slickness between her legs and rubs it over his  not exactly unimpressive cock, from the wet tip down to the bottom. He squeezes and draws in a shaky breath before he starts to move. His eyes roam over her with so much intensity that it starts to make her squirm.

 

“Fuck, Johanna...” She doesn't think she's ever heard her name said quite like that before. “I don't think I can wait long.” His free hand traces along her thigh, higher and higher. Gale looks up at her and says, “But I want you to come with me.”

 

She bites her lip, moving closer to him before she even realizes it. “I think I can do that,” she says slowly.

 

Two fingers are easy now and a third one doesn't take as much work as she expected. The more her kisses her open mouth, the more she wants to put it on his cock. She settles for running her fingertips over the head and bringing them up to her lips to taste him. He groans and moves both of his hands faster while he watches her close her eyes and lick each finger clean. They come at the same time, curving towards each other with each shuddering wave.

 

It's a long time before either of them speak—or move—until Gale says, “That was fucking amazing, but--” He sits up and grabs his discarded shirt to clean up with. “Really messy.” Her own t-shirt is sticky and wet, so she lets him pull it off as well. She can barely keep her eyes open now.

 

He lays next to her and kisses the top of her head. “Told you.” She doesn't have  time to respond before he disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a hot cloth. Besides, he was definitely right, even if he could stand to look a little less goddamn smug about it. “Your eyes are saying 'you're so annoying',” he says. He sits down and runs the back of his fingers over her hip. “But the rest of you is saying 'you're amazing, Gale Hawthorne!'”

 

Johanna makes a half-hearted attempt to kick him and ends up with her foot in his lap. “I can't stand you.”

 

“What's that? You wanna do it standing up?”

 

“Maybe if we got a fucking  _ ladder _ . Ah!” She jumps when he presses the warm cloth to her skin and cleans up what's left of the mess. He drops kisses on her damp skin.

 

“So I guess you're going back to sleep?” he says.

 

She closes her eyes a gives a long sigh of confirmation, pulling the sheets up to her chin. He moves to the edge of the bed and she quickly says, “Stay. Until I fall asleep.” She manages to make it sound more like a command than a plea.

 

He lays down next to her under the sheets. “So. How do you want me?”

 

She doesn’t wanna move. “I don't know. Holder's choice.”

 

He ushers her onto her side and slides in close behind her without hesitation. His hand is heavy on her hip and the slow drag of his fingers on her skin is soothing. God, to be  _ soothed _ . He kisses the back of her neck and sighs her name. It's the last thing she hears before she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary from the musical Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for more porn tbh


End file.
